Ever After
by emospritelet
Summary: Following on from the promo for 4X21/4X22, and a discussion on tumblr. Lady Belle ties Sir Rumple to his bed and unlaces him from those restrictive leather pants. No plot, just smut.


**Okay, so earlier today, standbyyourmantis was talking about Belle tying Sir Rumplestiltskin to the bed and unlacing his leather pants to take them off for sexy times. She bullied me into writing it (not really), so here we are. It was done in a rush, so any mistakes – meh!**

 **FYI there is zero plot here, just fucking. Because we all know Lady Belle would want to shag the pants off Sir Rumple, and if she got to choose her happy ending, it would be him.**

* * *

He swam up out of the blackness, heading towards a point of light that grew ever bigger until it washed over him and brought him gasping into the world again. Pain. A dull, throbbing pain at the back of his skull, which faded somewhat as he relaxed back on the soft bed. The light was not as bright as he had first thought; candles, and the flicker of firelight on bare stone walls.

"You're awake."

A melodious voice, one that sparked something in his memory, and the touch of a soft hand. He blinked, turning towards the voice. A woman smiled down at him, beautiful blue eyes shining. Chestnut hair curled around her shoulders, shining in the candlelight like polished mahogany, and she was wearing a gown in pale, buttery yellow. The gown displayed a generous amount of milky skin, and he averted his gaze hurriedly.

"How are you?" Her hand stroked his cheek, soft as silk, brushing his hair back out of his face. Perhaps he had died. Perhaps this was the afterlife. He liked to think he had done some good things in life; he had always tried to be what a knight should, after all. Was she a spirit, a fairy?

"Confused," he said truthfully, his voice sounding weak and somehow jarring to him. She giggled, her fingers still stroking his face, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was too tired to feel scandalised by a lady being so familiar. Besides, it felt nice.

"You hit your head," she explained. "You were fighting some bandits and you fell from your horse. Do you remember?"

"I…" He racked his brains to think of it, but that hurt too badly. There were flashes; the clash of swords, screaming, a crying child…

"There was a child," he said urgently, sitting up, and she pushed him back gently with a hand on his chest."

"Shhh," she said soothingly. "The child is safe, and my father has the bandits locked up in the keep. Everyone's safe. You can rest."

He let out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of her fingers on his skin.

"Can you remember your name?" she asked then, and he smiled slightly.

"I'm a knight," he said, and heard her chuckle again.

"You are indeed. Sir Rumplestiltskin, a noble knight. Sir Rumple."

"Yes." That sounded right, at least.

"And do you remember who I am?"

His eyes flicked open at that. She was still smiling down at him, but she had leaned closer, and he could see the swell of her breasts above the neckline of the dress. He concentrated on her face.

"You, my Lady? I'm not…"

"Belle," she said. "Lady Belle. I'm your wife, remember?"

"My wife." He tried to recall her, tried to pull the memories out of the swirling vortex of his confused brain, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Really, Rumple, one blow to the head and you forget me? We'll have to see what I can do about that."

She leaned back, and he missed the warmth of her touch, but then he felt her hands, running down his legs. The touch was thrilling, and by the time she had reached his boots and tugged them off, he was breathing a little harder.

"What are you doing?" he asked nervously, and she clicked her tongue at him.

"Taking your clothes off. I prepared a bath for you, alright?"

"I – I can undress myself," he said a little indignantly, trying to sit up again, and she pushed him back down with ease.

"I know you can, but I want to undress you." She shot him a wicked little smile. "You can undress _me_ , though, if you like."

He groaned and let his head fall back on the pillows, and she slid her hands back up his legs, straddling him as she did so. Clearly the woman had absolutely no sense of propriety. His _wife_? Perhaps he really had died.

Her fingers were tugging at the laces of his jerkin, then, and he flicked his eyes open to meet her blue ones. She was biting her lip in concentration, chewing gently on the soft, deep pink flesh as she pulled and tugged, and he felt a stirring below the waist that seemed the very opposite of chivalrous. She got the jerkin open, pushing it from him, making him sit up a little so she could tug it down his arms, and she pulled off his shirt at the same time, leaving him half naked. He fell back on the bed, wide-eyed, and she placed the flat of her hands on his chest.

" _Much_ better," she said in satisfaction. "Do you remember this, Rumple? Do you remember our wedding night, when I did this for you?"

She bent forwards, placing soft kisses to the hot skin of his chest, and he drew in his breath with a hiss, the feel of her lips sending shocks through him right to his core. Her hair was tickling his skin, her perfume filling his head, and he raised his hands to stroke down her back, moaning as her lips found his nipple, her tongue flicking out to tease it.

"My Lady!" he gasped, and felt her smile.

 _"_ _Belle,"_ she admonished gently, and sucked at him. He groaned, arching up into her, and her hands explored his chest, her thumb circling his other nipple. She kissed up his chest to his throat, letting the pink tip of her tongue sweep up his neck to his ear.

"Undress me, Sir Rumple," she whispered, and turned her back to him, pressed against his side. She had pulled her dark curls to the side so that he could see her lacings, and he began pulling at them with trembling fingers, flashes of memory returning to him. He recalled undressing her, remembered how it had been on their wedding night, when it was so new for her, when he had been desperately afraid of hurting her. He remembered how she had been the one to soothe him, how she had smiled up at him and reassured him that she wouldn't break. He unlaced the dress, pulling the pale yellow ribbon from its eyelets, pushing the panels apart to reveal the thin chemise and her creamy skin, and he reached out to touch her gently, the feel of her like silk beneath his fingertips.

Lady Belle stood up, letting the dress fall, clad only in the linen chemise through which the firelight shone, clearly showing the shape of her body, and Rumple groaned aloud as she climbed back on top of him. Yes! This was familiar! This was home, this was…

"Belle," he whispered. "My Belle, my love."

She giggled delightedly, bending to kiss him, and he opened his mouth to her, tasting her familiar sweetness. Gods, how he loved her! She drew back a little, stroking his hair back again as she looked into his eyes.

"There you are," she said fondly. "Forgetting your own wife, Sir Rumplestiltskin! I never heard of anything so – unchivalrous."

"I can think of plenty of unchivalrous things I'd like to do to my beautiful wife," he growled, and her smile grew mischievous.

"Well, you _do_ have to stay in bed for the next few days," she said pertly. "I'm afraid I'll just have to take care of you."

"Really? And how do you propose...?"

He cut off as she sat back and slid her hands down the flat of his belly to the laces of his breeches. Her eyes swept from left to right, somewhat ostentatiously.

"Do you know, I could unlace these all the way up your legs?" she said conversationally, slowly running a pale finger from his knee up to the top of his hip. "I must say that seems easier than just peeling them off you, what do you say?"

She let the finger trail agonisingly slowly across the waistband, reaching the other side and running down to his knee. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"I could, of course, cut them off, but that seems very wasteful, wouldn't you agree?"

Her finger was moving again, back up to his hip, slipping down to run across his crotch, and he gasped as she brushed against where he was hard, straining against the soft leather. Belle smiled, trailing her fingertip around the ridge of his cock, dipping lower to brush against his balls.

"This feels as though it needs to be freed, Sir Rumple," she said softly. "Will you let me?"

"Yes!" he gasped. "Please!"

She chuckled then, and sat back, pulling open the knotted laces at his ankles. She began the slow process of unlacing them, starting at one ankle and then the other, picking open the cross-lacings up to mid-way up each thigh. He watched her work, her skin a pale cream, warm in the light of the candles, firelight flickering across her face and casting shadows. She shifted her position slightly, using one finger to slip beneath the leather thongs binding his breeches, pulling slowly so that the ends slid through the steel eyelets.

"Almost there," she said quietly, moving up to his hip. He could feel the gentle touch of her fingers, the warmth of her hands, as the leather parted, as his skin was revealed, and his heart thumped in his chest, his need for her growing. The leather thong came loose at last, one side open, and she held it up triumphantly.

"There, Sir Knight," she said, pleased. "It appears that you're almost free."

He reached up to caress her hair, and she pulled back with a teasing frown, shaking her head.

"I still haven't forgiven you for forgetting about me," she said reprovingly. "I think you ought to be punished."

"I hit my head!" he protested, secretly enjoying her flirting, and she pursed her lips, gazing at the leather thong in her hands.

"I think," she said, her voice a low whisper. "I think that I ought to stop you from touching me, Sir Rumplestiltskin. Would that be punishment enough?"

He groaned as she pushed herself up his chest, grabbing his wrists and pushing them back above his head.

"Belle!" he begged. "Please! You're so beautiful, my love, let me touch you."

She giggled, winding the soft leather around his wrists, twisting it around the bedstead and knotting it firmly. He tugged on it as she slid back down his body, the feel of her breasts against him making him groan. He could move his wrists; he suspected he could get out of the bindings if he chose, but for the moment he was content to look at her, to see the gleam in her eyes and know that soon he would have her. She turned her attention to the other side of his breeches, continuing her slow unlacing, flick and pull, flick and pull. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she worked, her nipples tenting the thin linen, and longed to put his mouth on her, to taste her fragrant skin, to bury his head between her thighs and send her wild with his lips and tongue and fingers. No touching, though.

He sighed, relaxing into the blankets, enjoying the feel of her fingers moving further up his thighs, peeling the leather back, brushing against his skin. Belle reached the top of his hip, and slowly drew out the long strip of leather. She wound it between her fingers, back and forth, her hands moving in a rhythmic, hypnotic figure-eight pattern, a cat's-cradle of leather showing darkly against her pale skin.

"Are you comfortable, my love?" she asked softly.

"I want to touch you," he said throatily, and she smiled.

"In a moment. I'm not quite done."

Throwing off the tangle of leather, she shifted position, her chemise riding up her legs so that her bare skin was pressed against the outsides of his thighs, warm against him. She met his eyes, running her hands slowly up over his hips and down to his groin, and he sucked in his breath as she stroked against the hardness of him, her thumbs pressing along the ridge in the leather.

"Belle," he begged, and she smirked.

"A moment, brave Sir Rumple." Her clever little fingers walked up to his waistband, plucking at the lacing there that held the top of his breeches around his waist, pulling gently on the bow. She held his gaze as it came undone, her deep breathing mirroring his, her lips plump and waiting to be kissed. Gods, he wanted her! Her fingers dipped into the cross-lacings, tugging and pulling, until finally she pulled the lace free, the leather falling away from him. He moaned with relief as she peeled it back, revealing how he was hard for her, straining for her. She licked her lips, trailing a finger up the shaft of his cock, making his eyes fly open as he gasped.

"Belle!" he said frantically, and she smiled, the fingertip moving down the other side.

"What do you want, Sir Knight?" she asked mischievously. "What should be your reward for your brave and valiant deeds?"

"You little minx!" he growled, and she giggled.

"A kiss, perhaps?" she said coyly. "A kiss from your wife?"

"Yes!" He moaned loudly as she bent her head to his chest, kissing his hot skin, running her tongue over him. She moved down, her lips moving over his belly, making the tiny muscles there jump and pull, and he closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer as her mouth closed around the head of his cock, her tongue swirling, her hands pushing down on his hips as he rose up to meet her with a groan. Her mouth felt incredible, hot and wet, her lips pulling at him, and he longed for more, to push deeper, to feel every bit of her.

"Sweetheart, please!" he begged, and she let him go with a soft popping sound, raising her head to smile at him. He wriggled, trying to pull free, and she inched her way up his body, dragging her heat up the hard shaft of his cock and making him groan. She was wet, he could feel it, her honey coating his skin, making him slick.

"Let me touch you!" he said hoarsely, and she smiled, dropping her hands to the hem of her chemise, rolling it slowly up her body to expose her pale beauty. He settled back with a sigh to run his eyes over her, over her small, firm breasts and the gentle curves of her belly and hips, to the nest of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. She was perfection, utter perfection, and he almost whimpered when she ran her fingers down her body, her hand curving over a breast and dipping between her legs to touch herself.

"See, my love?" she whispered, holding out her hand. "See how I want you?"

He could smell her arousal, his nostrils flaring, and raised his head to capture her fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue wrap around her fingers, savouring the taste of her, licking her clean. He could feel her moving, her palm braced on his belly, and he let her hand fall away from his mouth, pressing kisses to her fingertips as she wriggled her hips and captured the head of his cock with her soft flesh.

"Oh, Belle!" he groaned, and she sank down onto him, making his eyes roll back in his head. She let out a breath that she seemed to have been holding, her head falling back a little. The firelight flickered over her skin, warm light playing over her soft curves, and he thought how incredible she was, how perfect, and _his_. All his. His wife. She began to move, gently rocking against him, her walls pulling at him, and he lifted his hips to meet her, increasing the friction between them. Her hands ran over his chest, her fingers toying with his hardened nipples, and he ached to touch her, to cup her breasts and feel her heart beating against the warmth of his hand.

"I love you," she whispered, picking up speed. "I love you, my Rumple, my love, my everything."

"I love you, my darling Belle."

He groaned, arching upwards as she moved faster, her movements making the bed creak loudly. He really hoped there was no one outside the door. Sometimes Sir Maurice posted a sentry outside their room, as though his daughter would be in any danger here. The man had grown paranoid since Queen Snow had attacked the settlements beyond the Marchlands, wanting his daughter close. It had led to some embarrassing incidents until the inhabitants of the castle learned not to interrupt the couple.

Belle was moving more quickly, her hands flat on his belly, her back arched. A faint sheen of sweat gleamed on her skin, her chest heaving, her eyes closed. She was panting, her lips parted, and as she cried out and clenched around him, he thought that he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Her head fell forwards, her hips bucking against him as she rode him.

"Touch me!" she gasped, and he tugged, snapping the leather thong that bound his wrists and rising up to pull her close, his arm around her waist. He buried his face between her breasts, breathing in her scent as he rocked them, his lips trailing up her throat to suck on her pulse point, to swallow the frantic beat of her heart. Belle wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers sinking into his hair, still making tiny little sounds of pleasure. He revelled in the feel of her, his free hand stroking up her back while the other arm held her close against him, the movement of his hips pushing him in and out of her, her soft flesh pulling at him. He moved in time with her breathing, a steady rhythm, the heat and friction and the slickness of her juices building between them, making his heart pound and his breath catch in his throat. He was close, so close, and she was nipping at his jawline, whispering that she loved him, her fingers toying with long strands of his hair and making him shiver. He could feel his body tensing, the pleasure building, and Belle sensed it, moving against him more swiftly, tightening her grip on him as he thrust into her, pulling and sliding and drawing him deeper inside.

The pleasure broke through him and he came with a cry, burying his head in her chest as he thrust into her, hot fluids pouring from him, pulled deeper inside by Belle's frenzied movements, her own cries matching his. He let his head fall against her shoulder as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving, his arms tight around her, and she made a contented sound as she nuzzled against him like a cat. His head was thumping painfully, and he groaned, sitting back a little and ramming the heel of his hand into his eye socket.

"Rumple?" Belle disentangled herself from him anxiously, pushing him back down onto the bed and climbing off.

"My head is killing me," he grumbled, and she chuckled, curling up next to him.

"You may have a concussion," she said. "I don't think I should let you get any sleep at all tonight."

Her expression was innocent, but there was a spark of mischief in her eyes. Somehow he believed every word she said, and never before had he been thankful for sustaining a head wound. Belle trailed a finger across his chest, making him shiver.

"Now," she said softly. "About that bath, Sir Rumple."

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, I am Rumbelle trash, and I don't even care!**


End file.
